


Corrupted Memory

by townshend



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/townshend/pseuds/townshend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for an old old old prompt on the Kink Meme over <a href="">here</a>. The prompt was: "Ezio/Desmond/Shaun</p><p>The Animus 2.0 breaks while Desmond is syncing between Ezio's memories and Desmond gets to meet his Italian ancestor<br/>The girls leave to mess with some technical jargon while Shaun watches over Desmond<br/>Ezio then tries to get answers out of Desmond with his own special brand of "interrogation"<br/>Shaun creepers in on that shit"<br/>Shaun. He creepers in on that shit.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Corrupted Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an old old old prompt on the Kink Meme over [here](). The prompt was: "Ezio/Desmond/Shaun
> 
> The Animus 2.0 breaks while Desmond is syncing between Ezio's memories and Desmond gets to meet his Italian ancestor  
> The girls leave to mess with some technical jargon while Shaun watches over Desmond  
> Ezio then tries to get answers out of Desmond with his own special brand of "interrogation"  
> Shaun creepers in on that shit"  
> Shaun. He creepers in on that shit.

It had been a long, restless sort of night - they'd just been run out of their hiding place, and even though Lucy and Rebecca had been on alternating watch, Desmond had barely been able to get to sleep, dreams rife with imagery of attacking Templars - something out of Altaïr's time, he thought, although he couldn't place the memories in the timeline he was familiar with.

At around seven AM Desmond finally realized he wasn't getting back to sleep. He sighed, getting out of bed, running a hand through his hair and over his eyes. He wondered if this place had a coffee machine.

Pulling his jacket back on, Desmond moved towards the warehouse's main room, looking around curiously. Everyone was already awake… and everyone looked as tired as he felt. It hadn't been a good night for anybody.

"Desmond," Shaun called. "So nice of you to join us. Care for a cup of coffee?"

Desmond ignored the quip and nodded, heading towards Shaun's desk - it was clear they'd set everything up quickly and hastily, as Shaun's books were thrown haphazardly and he hadn't hung any of his pictures or things back up on the walls. There was, however, a coffee machine there, full of wonderful black liquid with a plain white mug sitting empty beside it, practically calling Desmond's name.

"Yeah, thanks." As Desmond reached out for the cup, Shaun suddenly swatted his hand away.

"Too bad," he said, "it's mine."

"Shaun," Lucy said, warningly, and Shaun pulled his hand away, not meeting Desmond's gaze.

"Alright, fine. Since I'm in such a charitable mood this morning, it's all yours. Have at it. Sugar's in the drawer there, but we haven't got any cream. Apparently."

"We didn't have time to pack up the mini fridge!" Rebecca called, sounding as if this was a subject they'd already breached this morning. Desmond poured the coffee into the cup, grabbing a packet of sugar and emptying it in. He took a sip, savoring the taste. He remembered quickly that Altaïr loved coffee, black of course, the taste, the smell, everything - Ezio, on the other hand, hadn't taken to it, thinking it needed something more to make it any good. He grinned a little at the memory. Ezio Auditore, the world's first barista.

"Are you going to stand around smiling to yourself all day, Desmond, or are we going to get some work done?" Shaun asked, staring at the other man. "Honestly…" He turned back to his computer, typing away. "While you've been sleeping in this morning, we've been working on the other two sequences in Ezio's memory. The two that were corrupted? And we've got them cracked, we just need you to sit down, shut up, and do your thing."

Desmond took another drink of the coffee, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Really? The other two memories? You cracked them?"

"Yeah…" Rebecca sounded a little cocky, and Desmond turned to see her leaning against her desk, crossing arms over her chest with a self-satisfied smile. "I may have done an _awesome_ thing or two this morning."

Desmond grinned a little, setting his cup down. "Okay. I'm game. Let's see what Ezio's been doing with his time."

"Or _who_ he's been doing," Shaun murmured, typing away. "Alright. I've got the sequence loaded."

Desmond slid into the seat, holding his arm out in a practiced movement, his sleeve yanked up. Rebecca dutifully slid the needle in, Desmond felt a shock, and he was out.

Or rather, he was in. The white walls of the Animus loaded all around him. Desmond opened his eyes and he was standing in it, the code swirling all around him. So many times of this and he still couldn't help but being reminded of the Matrix every time. Bad sci-fi movies tend to stick with you.

He glanced around - loading seemed to be taking longer than usual. He should be in Venice by now, or Florence, or wherever this memory was going to start him. Just as he thought that, he saw a flicker of it - stone streets, passing crowds of people, tall, beautiful Renaissance buildings - but it all fell away as quickly as it had come, and Desmond jerked back, confused.

"Uh, guys?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"Uh, hang on--" It was Rebecca's voice, echoing artificially over the code. "It's not booting up properly. Shaun, what's going on on your end?"

"Don't look at me," Shaun snarked back, sounding exasperated. "You're the one who said you'd salvaged the memories! Obviously, something's wrong with your 'Baby'--"

"Don't say that!" Rebecca said, half-offended, half-worried. "Especially not when we've got someone in there. If it crashes with Desmond inside, we could wind up with--"

"That's enough," Lucy said, quickly cutting her off. "Rebecca, let's go back into the external memory rooms and make sure everything's cooled and working properly, alright?"

Rebecca sighed raggedly. Desmond was starting to panic. Wind up with what?

"Hey, wait," he called, suddenly, into the void. "What do you mean, if it crashes with me inside? What's gonna happen? Hey, just pull me out right now!"

"No can do, Desmond," Shaun replied, dryly. "Calm down, will you? We can't take you out of the Animus during a glitch. As you know, I should hope, the Animus interacts with the memory sections of your brain, tapping into genetic memory. I can't just yank you out of a machine that's interacting with your brain willy-nilly and not expect bad results. Or would you like to gamble with your head? You've not got much there, I'll remind you, so I'd recommend protecting what you can."

Desmond threw his hands up into the air, frustrated.

"Watch him while we're gone," Lucy said, and he heard her comm click off.

"Don't worry, Desmond," Rebecca said after her. "We'll figure this out. You might start to see some weird things while we're messing around with the settings. Just hold tight and we'll get this memory booted and we can all get back to work, okay?" Hers went off as well, leaving Desmond in radio silence.

"Great," Desmond said, dryly. "Just great." Weird things? What kind of weird things? What kind of memories was he going to see? He looked around, half-expecting something, but all he could see was the white expanse of the Animus, stuck permanently in loading. "Where are they even going?" he asked, addressing the question quite obviously to Shaun.

"To an adjoining building, where we house external power and cooling units. Most of the Animus' functionality units are stored there. If there has to be maintenance, it has to be done there. It's not far." Shaun sounded bored. "Just sit tight like a good boy."

Desmond frowned. "It would be nice if I could get a chair or something. Maybe a martini."

"Let me go ahead and program those for you," Shaun murmured, obviously sarcastic.

 _And maybe a certain British guy to punch in the face,_ Desmond thought, annoyed. He stood there a moment longer, looking around, before there was a sudden flash - Desmond saw a field, dark except for quick explosions of light, the sky smelling suddenly of smoke and gunpowder, and people were screaming, in _English_ \--

"Wha--" Desmond stumbled backwards, he was holding a rifle and when he looked over, the boy next to him was as well, staring at him with fear in his eyes.

"Captain," he said, "please, you have to give us the sign!"

But suddenly it was gone, just as quickly as it came-- Shaun seemed to be stunned into silence, before suddenly crying, "Gettysburg!".

Desmond's head was spinning. "Wow," he said, dully, "I'm glad one of us is excited about this."

"That was the Battle of Gettysburg," Shaun explained, practically giddy. "It was part of the American Civil War."

"Yeah, I know--"

"July first through the third, 1863, around Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Great Union Victory. It's considered the turning point of the Civil War. Nearly fifty-one thousand Americans gave their lives over those three days, all in the name of--"

Desmond didn't really care. Shaun could be reciting the Gettysburg Address now and he wouldn't notice, he'd already tuned the man out. This must have been what Rebecca meant when she'd said "weird things". How many more shards of memories was he going to see before they got the Animus fixed?

"Altaïr, please, rest."

Desmond froze. It wasn't a familiar voice. When he turned to look, the Animus shifted - stone walls, rugs on the floor, a familiar dryness in the air, and…

Was that Kadar?

"We have a mission tomorrow," he said. "Very important. You need all the rest you can get… and so do I."

"Shaun," Desmond said, panicked as Kadar approached him, placing a hand on his arm. "Shaun, what the hell is happening."

Shaun sounded _interested_ , which really only served to annoy Desmond further. "The Animus is struggling - it's failing to load the supposedly repaired memories, so it's trying to find something else to load in your genetic memory - anything else."

"Well make it stop," Desmond said, quickly, almost yelping as Kadar leaned towards him, going to press his lips on "Altaïr's". "Jesus, how many people was this guy involved with?!"

"Sorry," Shaun said. "Can't do anything."

But before Desmond could shove Kadar off, luckily, the scene suddenly faded away, leaving Desmond in the Animus loading, panting for breath. He thought he could hear Shaun chuckling distantly, and he vowed to find a way to kill the man later.

"The Animus is looking for Ezio," Shaun said, finally. "Although it isn't doing a very good job, is it?"

"Fuck you," Desmond retorted. "Can't you tell them to hurry up or something?"

" _No,_ " Shaun drew out, as if he was speaking to a small child. "I have babysitting duties, Desmond. I realize it's not the most fun thing in the world to be stuck in a machine that can go through you and your ancestors memories in vivid detail, but try to take it like a man, will you?"

Desmond wanted to retort, but right when he opened his mouth, someone else spoke first - and it wasn't Shaun. Not by a long shot.

"Desmond?"

Desmond's stomach dropped. He felt the hair on his neck stand on end - he knew exactly whose voice that was. Exactly.

Slowly turning, Desmond came face-to-face with Ezio Auditore da Firenze - and Ezio was looking straight at him, his face alight with surprise.

"Oh, god," Desmond said, slowly. "This cannot be happening."

"Are you Desmond?" Ezio said, striding towards him. He stopped suddenly however, looking around, eyes wide. "Where are we? What is this?" And then, more to himself, "It is almost like the Vault, except…"

"The Vault?" Desmond echoed. He could hardly believe this, could hardly believe he was talking to his long-dead ancestor face-to-face, and Ezio was reacting to him, talking to him, looking at him…

Of course, he knew what the Vault was - he knew exactly what Ezio was talking about. He'd seen the Vault himself, through Ezio's eyes - seen the message that called him out by name, that made Ezio so confused and curious--

Oh, god. Ezio. Ezio knew his name. Ezio knew Desmond's name, and he was going to get to the bottom of finding out what was happening. He remembered standing in Ezio's shoes right afterwards, Ezio burning with a curiosity Desmond had felt in him before - a curiosity Ezio would do anything to satiate.

And the fire burning in Ezio's eyes, from the other side, was truly scary.

"Ah, Desmond?" Shaun said, his voice hushed, almost scared. "I think the Animus found Ezio."

"How the hell is this possible," Desmond growled. Ezio could hear Shaun's voice, too - he was looking around the white expanse, expression puzzled, concerned.

"Listen, Desmond--" Shaun was speaking quickly. "Genetic memory stores more than just a person's life. It stores everything about them - their personality, their-- their _selves_. Ezio is a part of you, Desmond, and the Animus is channeling that, trying to load that, trying to-- just… just hold him off until he disappears like the other memories!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Ezio practically growled, "until I get some answers."

He pinned Desmond suddenly - there was a wall, out of nowhere, until Desmond realized they were on a street in Venice, a deserted street - the Animus couldn't load any people, couldn't load a real memory, could hardly load anything. Ezio didn't seem to notice, he was too busy with his hand curled in Desmond's jacket, holding the man against the wall.

"Tell me everything you know," he said, seriously. "Why was the woman talking to you? Why was she using me to pass a message? Who are you?!"

Desmond struggled against Ezio's grasp - it wasn't as if he couldn't tell the man, it wasn't as if he'd be messing around with timelines or anything like that - Ezio was a memory, that was all - but what could he possibly say that Ezio would understand? What could he even begin to explain that could get Ezio off of him? He clenched his teeth, his mind racing with possibilities, with attempts to say anything at all, but nothing really came--

"Not talking, are you," Ezio said slowly, watching Desmond with a level gaze. There was a sudden tweak in the background, a flash of code, and the city street was gone, replaced by a room Desmond was familiar with, a room in the Villa Auditore usually occupied by Ezio's silent, praying mother. The room was empty now save for the two of them, but Ezio didn't seem to notice; didn't seem to care that their scenery had changed at all. "It is alright. I can make you talk."

Desmond wanted to shoot back that the line was cliché as hell, but he didn't get a chance - Ezio suddenly threw him against the bed, stripping the jacket off of Desmond in a movement so fluid that Desmond was almost shocked - clearly, not everything had transferred over from the Animus to Desmond, as he was certain he wasn't nearly that fast. Before Desmond could scramble up, Ezio had used the jacket's long sleeves to tie Desmond's hands to the bed posts, whipping out a cord from his own clothing to secure Desmond's kicking legs.

"Shaun," Desmond gasped, "a little help?!"

But Shaun didn't respond - he was watching the visual display with wide eyes, glasses slightly askew. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't find this entire situation slightly… interesting. It was remarkably interesting. From a historian's point of view, Shaun realized he could learn so much from this, from just this one scene playing out in front of him... finding a way to make it stop? That was out of the question. Even if he could.

Desmond growled. "Thanks for nothing," he murmured.

"There is nobody here to help you," Ezio said, quietly. He leaned over Desmond, watching the man. Desmond wondered if Ezio noticed their remarkable resemblance, but if he did, he hadn't said anything--

Until Ezio slowly reached out, brushing a gloved finger down Desmond's matching mouth scar.

"How did you get this?" he asked, quietly. Desmond had memories rushing through his head - Vieri de'Pazzi throwing a well-aimed rock at him, Kadar's blade getting just a little too close during practice years and years before Solomon's Temple…

"We're a lot alike," Desmond said, suddenly. "You and me. Don't you see that, Ezio?"

Ezio's eyes narrowed, in concentration - he watched Desmond for a long time before looking away suddenly.

"We will see about that," he said, finally. He slowly pulled back his hood, and Desmond watched, craning his neck as Ezio began slowly pulling off his complicated tunic and armor, leaving him in a pair of simple pants and boots. He pulled his dagger from its sheath, turning back towards Desmond, carefully. He swept Desmond up and down with his eyes, slowly, taking in every detail. Desmond sucked in a breath, nervous under the heavy gaze. Shaun did the same, watching the scene as closely as he could, taking in every small detail, every twinge of Ezio's stare, every rise and fall of Desmond's chest.

Slowly, Ezio climbed onto the bed, straddling Desmond's middle, a leg on either side of him. He sat on Desmond's stomach, leaning down towards him, his ponytail of hair falling forward over his shoulder and just barely tickling against the skin of Desmond's neck. Ezio raised the dagger slowly, showing Desmond the shine of the blade.

"If you are like me, Desmond, you will not talk. You will not say a word. I can only hope for the both of us that that is not true."

He ran the other hand down Desmond's t-shirt, touching the strange, foreign fabric. "You are not from around here," he noted, fingers ending at the waistband of Desmond's denim jeans. "Your name is proof enough of that - and your clothes." He slowly lifted the shirt, stretching it tight. With a quick movement, Ezio pulled the dagger down, slicing through the thin, cheap cotton. He parted the shirt on Desmond's chest, slowly moving his hand across Desmond's exposed collarbone, down across his muscles. Desmond was practically gasping for breath, all warning lights in his head going off, alarms sounding in his brain. This was not good. This was not good at all.

Worst of all, Desmond realized, Shaun was watching. And he wasn't saying or doing a damn thing.

"Now," Ezio started, his voice low - Shaun jacked up the volume to hear, his ears straining - "You are going to answer every one of my questions, Desmond, or I will make you regret saying no to me."

Desmond barely had time to realize how easily that could be misinterpreted - it would be stupid not to be terrified by Ezio Auditore, knowing the full scope of what he could and _would_ do. Desmond was supposed to have all the same skills, but he'd been so easily disposed of. He obviously needed a few more training sessions - but that was the last thing he could think of right now.

It was no secret that Ezio was a charmer. In just a few minutes, Ezio could have a woman wrapped around his finger just by sheer charm alone - and based off some glimpses of memory he'd seen thanks to the bleeding effect, Desmond had a pretty good feeling it worked on more than just women, too. With Ezio so close, so warm, his hands on him, his breath hitting his face - Desmond didn't care if it was like looking into a warped mirror where the features were just off enough to be disturbing, it was fucking _hot_. Desmond hadn't realized how much he liked being tied up and told what to do, how much he craved orders and a guiding hand - Ezio was all of those things, and he was on top of him, pressing down into him--

And Desmond was hard. He knew he was. Ezio knew he was - the subtle shift in his expression said as much, and Desmond felt a burn of shame that only made him want him harder.

What Desmond didn't know was that _Shaun_ knew he was, too.

"Well," Ezio said, quietly. "I suppose that tells me a little about you." He suddenly slipped the dagger back into his boot, his hands ghosting Desmond's sides. "We can make things interesting, in that case, Desmond."

Oh god, the way he said his name. Desmond felt ridiculous with how much he suddenly wanted Ezio - it had hit him like an oncoming train, blowing him away, gushing through him in hot, snaking tendrils that curled around every nerve, every synapse in his head, making him a slave to that want, a whore, a fucking goddamn--

He arched up into Ezio, whimpering suddenly, and Shaun stared, his stomach jumping, heart pounding. He turned to mute his comm link, watching the scene play out before him. Who knew Desmond could be so… so beautiful?

Ezio laughed, his hands suddenly coming down to Desmond's shoulders, pressing him restrictively against the bed. "Not so fast, signore," he said, voice like silk. "You must give to get. Surely you know that."

Desmond's face flushed, he struggled against the bindings, meeting Ezio's gaze. "You wouldn't believe me, even if I told you," he said, finally.

"I know of many unbelievable things in this world," Ezio said, quietly. "You should try me."

"You know about the Templars," Desmond said, "and the assassins. That's not- that's not exactly the same."

Ezio's expression was careful, measured - he gauged Desmond for a moment. "I should have known you'd know," he said. "She said, 'guard against the cross'… she was speaking of the Templars, wasn't she?"

"Yes," Desmond choked, but to tell the truth, it was the last thing he cared about right now.

"But how do you know?" Ezio demanded, pressing hard against him, shifting, causing Desmond to gasp and buck and squirm. "There was no one else in the Vault with me. Only me. How do you know? How did you see it?"

"The Animus," Desmond gasped. It was all he could say - trying to explain the ins and outs of genetic memory; of brain theory; of a machine that could access your brain when Ezio barely even understood what a machine was would be impossible, especially in this situation.

"Tell me what this Animus is," Ezio commanded, and as if to give incentive, he leaned down, pressing his hot mouth to Desmond's chest, sucking at the skin there, leaving marks.

Shaun turned his gaze quickly from the monitor to the Desmond in his chair - sometimes, when Ezio would get hit with an arrow in the Animus or fall too far, Desmond would grit his teeth, wincing even when it couldn't really hurt him. Shaun stood quickly from his chair, approaching Desmond's body - a thin layer of sweat was forming over his body and he was _quivering_ , and Shaun watched him, lips slightly parted, watching the way Desmond would tense and twist and gasp, and Shaun couldn't help himself, he was getting hard, too.

This was ridiculous. It was Desmond Miles - the idiot who sat around in that chair while Shaun did all the hard work. He wasn't even that attractive - just average, really--

Just as he thought that, Ezio took Desmond's nipple between his teeth, and Desmond's body-in-the-chair gasped, practically rolling back against the chair, _moaning_ , the same moan echoing in the Animus, and Shaun took it back - Desmond was beautiful, was bloody gorgeous, was so fucking exquisite that Shaun hadn't even realized he'd opened his pants and gone in until he felt his hand on his own cock. In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that he was standing over Desmond's unaware body while jerking himself off, and that this was likely the most disgusting, disturbing thing he could ever do, but then Desmond moaned again, and Shaun thought he might lose it right then and there.

"Fuck," he whispered, " _Desmond._ "

Just at that moment, Ezio's voice suddenly came out of the speakers, his mouth breaking contact with Desmond's skin.

"You are supposed to be explaining, Desmond," he said, quietly, "unless you want me to stop?"

" _No,_ " Desmond gasped, suddenly, "God no, no, please no, don't stop." Desmond registered how helpless he sounded but he didn't care, this was just a memory, it wasn't a real person, it was just an elaborate sex fantasy, it wasn't as if anyone was--

And then his heart stopped.

 _Shaun._

Desmond's stomach dropped, but he tried to ignore the embarrassment - he wasn't going to be able to look Shaun in the face for what would likely be the rest of his life after this, but god, it was going to be _so_ worth it--

"The Animus," he gasped, finally, and Ezio's mouth continued its attentions. "It's a- it's a machine. Like, like Leonardo's flying machine. It's an invention, it uh, it-- it sends you, sends _me_ back, back into the past, to- to see, to see through someone else's eyes."

There was no way Ezio could understand that - just no way. Did people in the Renaissance even think about the possibility of time travel? Could they even conceive such a thing?

"A machine?" Ezio asked, tearing his mouth away. "To send someone to the past? To yesterday? The day before? Last year? How?"

Desmond had already followed Ezio's line of thought - he wanted to go back, to save his family, to change everything. Desmond quickly shook his head. "No," he said. "It can't work like that. It's only - only memories, it's not real. It's not a real past."

"Memories?" Ezio's hands worked quickly, finding the button on Desmond's pants and unfastening it but struggling with the zipper. "Whose memories?"

"Yours," Desmond answered, quickly, arching into Ezio's hands. "Oh, god, please touch me--"

"Anything you say, Desmond," Shaun gasped, and he caught himself a moment after it left his lips but he didn't care - if he could ever get Desmond to say that to him, he'd do it, until he could make Desmond scream, until he could make Desmond say his name--

"Ezio," Desmond gasped, and Shaun figured that for now that would have to be good enough.

"Why," Ezio asked, as he forcefully yanked down Desmond's zipper (Desmond was sure he'd broken it, but he didn't care), "is there a machine for my memories?"

Desmond wanted to explain that it wasn't just him, that there were others, but he wasn't sure he could get that much out. Ezio was touching him, hands on skin, and he didn't want him to stop, _ever_. "You're-- fuck, _fuck_ , you're important, Ezio, you were the-- the Prophet, you were--" But he cut himself off with his own drawn-out moan, tossing back against the bed as far as he could with the restraints. Ezio's hands had found Desmond's cock, and they knew just what to do there, and god, it was so good, it was--

\--suddenly gone.

The memory disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving Desmond lying against the Animus' loading room floor, the white code swirling around him. He sat up suddenly, the jacket lying uselessly a few feet away. His shirt was still cut away, his pants open with his cock lying out, hard, desperate for Ezio's touch. But Ezio was gone. Shaun couldn't help but notice that the condition had transferred itself to Desmond's actual body, and he quickly tucked himself back into his pants, clearing his throat. He moved to switch his comm back on.

"Desmond," he said, his voice a bit ragged, "are you alright?"

Desmond was quick to fix himself as best he could, wincing as he got his pants back together, grabbing for his jacket and yanking it back on. Really, Shaun was asking if he was alright? And what was with that tone?

"Yeah, Shaun," Desmond said. "I'm great." The sarcasm was blindingly obvious, and he was about to say more when suddenly, Venice popped up around him before fading away, but more natural this time.

Rebecca's voice kicked in suddenly. "Hey! Did you see that? Did the memory start to load?"

Desmond didn't say anything, so after a pause, Shaun quickly answered.

"Yes, yes, it loaded. Congratulations." He cleared his throat, glancing towards Desmond worriedly. "Is it safe to shut down the Animus now?"

"Huh? Shut it down?" Rebecca sounded confused. "We just got it working! I thought you wanted to check out the other two memories?"

"Yes, Rebecca," Shaun said, impatiently, "That _was_ the plan, but thanks to your ingenious 'coding', Desmond's been seeing some, ah, unpleasant things, and I think it's best he takes a break."

Rebecca was silent (probably stunned into it) and after a second, Lucy quickly came on. "Is he alright?"

"I'll be fine," Desmond quickly answered. "Just... give me an hour."

"Uh, sure." Rebecca frowned. "We should run some diagnostics anyway to see what caused the problem. Shaun, you can go ahead and pull him out now, it's safe."

"Wonderful."

In seconds, Desmond was suddenly yanked out of the Animus - he was back in the chair, back in the warehouse, and Shaun was standing over him, having just pulled the needle out of his arm.

Desmond stared at him for a moment as if challenging him to say anything, but surprisingly, Shaun was silent for a moment. Desmond moved to stand from the chair and high-tail it out of the room before the girls came back, but Shaun suddenly grabbed his arm, yanking him back.

"You've still got a problem," he said.

"Yeah, thanks, I couldn't tell," Desmond replied, scathingly.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were that thick," Shaun answered, letting go of Desmond's arm, "considering you haven't even noticed mine."

Desmond stared at Shaun, realizing too quickly what he meant. God, he'd watched all of that, he'd seen Desmond with Ezio, and he'd... been turned on?

Desmond didn't know what to say for a long time, gears turning quickly in his head. Shaun wasn't Ezio - not by a long shot. The historian's lean frame, cloudy disposition and English accent had to be the furthest thing from Ezio he could find, but...

He wouldn't have to be embarrassed about what had just happened if he made Shaun a part of it, would he? Besides, Shaun wasn't exactly bad-looking - not by a long shot.

With a smirk, Desmond stood from the chair, crossing his arms.

"I'm going up to my room," he said. "I was thinking you could come 'check on me' in about, oh, ten minutes?"

"Five," Shaun argued, grabbing Desmond's collar and yanking him in close. Desmond surged into the kiss, grasping either side of Shaun's head.

"Five," he agreed, breaking away just as he heard the door code being input on the other side. He quickly moved off, up the stairs and out of view. Shaun watched him go before directing his gaze to the empty monitor. Maybe before he went he should erase some of that data...

...Or save it somewhere secret. That sounded like a splendid idea.


End file.
